


Mapping

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request: Ooooh can I plz get some Feral Jask up in heeeere? Like they're at a fancy party and Jask us trying to keep cool because some of his enemies are here, but he gets extremely jealous when he sees someone he hates flirting with the reader and it bugs him the whole night until he steals the reader away, confesses (and maybe smut in a closet somewhere? If it works out that way?)
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Kudos: 39





	Mapping

Being escorted anywhere by Jaskier meant spending most of the evening alone. It could be lonely at times but you were still honored that he asked you to go to the banquet with him, insisting you experience what he often complained Geralt took for granted. As he performed in the center of the hall you clapped in time with the music and cheered loudly when he completed a song, receiving a special bow of thanks from him each time.

“It seems an awful shame for a lady as lovely as yourself to be alone,” a voice said. You turned to the man who had spoken. His dark curls were rakishly unruly and framed his brilliant green eyes. There was a feline grace to his features that made him as interesting to look at as he was beautiful. Even the perfectly coiffed goatee and mustache added just another element of interest to his face.

“How very kind of you to worry, sir, but I am not alone. Merely unaccompanied at the moment,” you replied.

“Surely your partner won’t mind if I make use of his seat while he’s detained?” the man asked, gesturing to the spot and waiting for your approval. You glanced at Jaskier who played to the crowd, lost in his performance.

“That would be fine,” you answered. The man gave a little bow and took the seat.

“Tell me, what brings you to Vizima?” he asked. He’d turned towards you, hand on the table just barely grazing your own as he gave you his complete attention. You weren’t used to such focused, consistent attention, usually sharing Jaskier with his lute or Geralt or anyone passing by.

“I am traveling with friends,” you answered, the green eyes gazing into yours in rapture, “I am a healer by trade and prefer to work abroad.”

“How fascinating,” he replied, “I too travel for employment. I’m a bard.”

“Oh! How very funny, I’m here with a bard! Hence being alone at the moment, he’s performing,” you said, and turned to point out Jaskier. Jaskier turned and spotted you as he belted out the next line and then his eyes glanced to the left of you and the words stalled in his throat. You felt the man’s hand cover yours and you looked back at him as he stood.

“I fear I must return to my party, but it has been an unparalleled pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss…?”

“Y/N,” you answered, a bit distracted as you watched Jaskier replace the lute on his back despite protests from the crowd, the musicians quickly picking up a tune to try and make up for the sudden interruption.

“Miss Y/N. If you are ever in Vizima again, or if we may happen to cross paths on the road, know you have a friend in Valdo Marx,” he said, and he turned your wrist to plant a kiss on your open palm. Your heart skipped a beat at the intimacy of the kiss. The name sounded vaguely familiar and you tried to think back to when you may have heard it as you watched him walk away. Finally resigning yourself to ask about it later, you turned back to try and find your friend. You couldn’t see Jaskier anymore and headed in the same direction Valdo had gone to find him. You were walking down a corridor when a hand suddenly grasped your wrist and pulled you into (based on the bookshelves and ornate chaise lounge) a study. You pulled out the dagger Geralt insisted you keep strapped to your thigh but when you wheeled around you found only Jaskier.

“What the fuck did he say to you?” he growled. His eyes were wild with anger and he paced.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked incredulously as you sheathed your dagger.

“What did Valdo Marx say to you?” he asked.

“Oh…. That is where I’ve heard the name before,” You said, realization dawning.

“Yes, so I’ll ask again, Y/N, what did you and my sworn enemy Valdo Marx have to chat about?”

“He asked me why I was sitting alone,” you answered, your words hard as you felt a prickle of anger run through you.

“Of course he did,” Jaskier scoffed as though it had been an egregious insult instead of an observation, “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that my companion was elsewhere. I also pointed out that you were performing. Now it’s my turn to ask questions. Where the hell do you get off talking to me in that tone?”

Your anger surprised Jaskier but it seemed only to fan his ire.

“He had his hands on you. He kissed you, I saw him,” he snarled.

“Well somebody fucking better,” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “Dear lord, Jaskier, you have me go with you to these events and then you expect me to sit on my hands, watching you perform, lavishing you with praise, watching you find all sorts of delightful company but if I allow a man to sit next to me and speak with me and yes, even kiss my hand, suddenly I am out of bounds? Frankly, if I wanted to, I’d have every right to sneak away and fuck him if I so wished.”

Jaskier recoils from the words and the two of you begin to circle each other.

“Don’t say that,” he growled, pointing at you, “Don’t you fucking say that.”

“Or what?” you challenge, “You won’t invite me to watch you play at the next party? You’ll have go without your favorite accessory for once?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, crossing the room.

“Then explain,” you retorted, meeting him in the middle of the room, chest heaving with outrage and your hands balled into fists at your side.

“He was just using you to get to me,” Jaskier begins and you laugh harshly, cutting him off.

“Oh you are un-fucking-believable Julian. You think it so impossible that a man would be interested in me that your first assumption is that he is simply using me as a pawn?” you bite.

“That’s not what I’m saying look just shut up and listen, he is my oldest nemesis-”

“He didn’t even know I was with you! And as soon as I told him, he left! And frankly I think I should have left with him because at least he pays attention to me.”

As soon as the words left your mouth Jaskier sprang forward, walking you back until you hit the wall and then pressing his body up against yours and pinning it in place.

“Is that what you want, Y/N?” he asked, his words menacing as his eyes roam down your body in slow, leering perusal, “You want attention?”

“Don’t do me any favors,” you snarled and moved to push him off but he held you in place, grasping your face in his hand and shifting it to meet his stormy eyes.

“You should know by now that I only do what pleases me,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“Why now?” you asked, fighting against the need to bite the sneering lips that rested just inches from yours, “Because I don’t want this if this is just you marking your territory.”

“I have wanted this for a very long time,” he whispered the words against your mouth, “I have dreamt of it and I have longed for it. I was afraid of it, it consumed me so. But when I saw that man put his hands on you I was torn between the impulse to rend his limbs from his body and the need to strip you down and scrub all traces of his filth from your body and then yes, Y/N, yes, yes I want to mark you for my own. I want to touch and lick and fuck you so thoroughly that your body becomes a map of desire known only by me. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything. I want you more than I hate him, and I do not have words for the depth of such wanting. But I will show you, if you let me.”

You swallowed hard and his eyes fall to the column of your throat, back up to your lips, landing on your eyes as he waited for your answer.

“Prove it,” you said, your eyes flashing dangerously. His mouth twitched into a playful smirk and then he fell into the kiss, both of you exhaling in relief as you poured months of unspoken longing into every stroke and nip and crush of lips against lips against teeth against cheek, jaw, neck, mouths traveling and learning the topography of faces gazed at but never before touched. He pulled at the laces of your dress while his mouth roamed farther, grazing your collar bones and the soft, tender flesh of your breasts. The dress slid further down and his hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as he persisted, kissing the soft dip of your hips, traced the slope of your stomach and ever mark and freckle and scar he found along the way. He crouched onto the floor and pulled you onto him, the two of you tumbling to the ground, giggling through the kisses that turned playful and then deepened again. You straddled him and you could feel the solid outline of his arousal straining against his trousers.

“Come here,” he said, an order and a plea, and you leaned forward. He seized your hips and pulled you forward until you were seated on his chest, his strong arms helping to support your weight and position you right where he wanted.

“Just relax,” he said, feeling the tension in your thighs as his mouth peppered the inside of your thighs with kisses before lowering you onto his face. Your gasp melted into a moan as he pressed tongue through the folds, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he gripped your thighs tighter and stroked the length of you with his tongue. Your trepidation fell away as you became swept up in the building sensation. You tried biting back the moans he pulled from you but he could feel the trembling tension building in you and used it to guide his rhythm, following the breathless movements of your body. When you come the bit-back moans twist into breathless keening, music to Jaskier’s ears as he continues to coax and lick until you fist a handful of curls and pull his face away.

You rise on legs still trembling and he stares up at you adoringly, face slick and red and insatiable.

“Well,” you said still a little breathlessly, “That is at least one stop on the map that feels thoroughly Jaskier’d.”

He laughs and rises from the floor, tossing his doublet to the floor and pulling off his undershirt, wiping off his face before dropping it as well, giving you an unfettered view of his broad, muscle-toned shoulders and arms and chest, the dark hair you’d seen glimpses of countless times finally, completely unobscured. You sighed heavily and he cocked an eyebrow at you in question.

“Just… good work,” you said, gesturing broadly in his general direction. He laughed and you joined him, giddy from the butterflies in your stomach and the unexpected turn the evening had taken. When he unlaces the trousers and finishes undressing you stop laughing, breath hitching at your throat as you take all of him in, and then worry about how to do it.

“Don’t worry, love,” he says, planting a soft kiss on the mouth that you chase with one that is rougher, impatient, “We’re not leaving this room until I’ve used every tool at my disposal to banish the name Valdo Marx from your memory.”

“Whom?”


End file.
